A thunderous crash echoed through the small house as the door was kicked open. The old wood splintered, its hinges groaning before snapping apart, adding to the chaos of the storm raging outside. But before that moment came, Riven had already shaken Melly awake, struggling to pull her upright as he gripped her shoulders.

“Melly… wake up. Now.” His voice was low, strained, carrying an urgency that could not be questioned.

The little girl blinked, still caught between dream and waking. “Riven… what—”

“No time.” Riven’s tone pressed harder, almost a whisper, yet sharp enough to cut through the roar of thunder.

His eyes were locked, his face carved in rare, heavy tension. “Listen to me carefully. Hide under the bed. Do not come out. No matter what happens… don’t move until I call you myself.”

Something in his voice froze Melly. Even half-asleep, she knew her brother wasn’t joking. His warmth was gone, replaced by lines of steel across his expression. That was enough. She swallowed her words, nodded quickly, and scrambled to obey.

Her foot caught on the carpet, nearly tripping her, but she held her breath and kept silent. Within seconds, her small body vanished beneath the bed, curling tightly into the dark.

Riven’s gaze lingered on the bedframe. For a fleeting moment, he wanted to say something comforting, but his tongue was numb. So instead he turned, reaching for the sword he had hidden in the corner.

His right hand trembled slightly, not from fear but from the leftover storm of adrenaline after the dream, now hammered by reality.

Moving slowly, he opened the window. Wet wind struck his face, carrying shards of rain that cut with cold deep into his bones.

The storm raged. Lightning split the sky, flashing against trees that thrashed wildly as if trying to tear free from their roots. Riven narrowed his eyes, measuring the ground below. Then he leapt down, vanishing into the deluge.

Inside the house, heavy boots pounded the floor. Rough voices tangled with the storm.

“Boy! We know you’re in here!” one shouted, his voice harsh and gravelly.

“Come out! Hand over what you’ve got, and maybe we’ll let you live,” another barked, higher pitched, strained with irritation.

The third spat in disgust. “Damn it… had to come all this way in this storm. Who gives orders on a night like this?”

Riven’s brows furrowed. Orders? Who sent them? A face surfaced in his mind, but he pushed it aside.

The three men swept their gaze around the dim room. It didn’t take long for their eyes to land on a large sack in the corner and next to it, a cloth-wrapped bundle. Suspicion gleamed in their eyes as they approached.

One man tore open the sack, digging inside until his hands closed around weapons still caked in dirt. Another undid the cloth bundle. As the wrappings fell away, a pale silver light flooded the room. There, gleaming in the gloom, was a blade white as ice, etched with faintly glowing golden runes.

The men froze.

“This… this is a Runed blade, isn’t it?” one whispered, his voice tight with awe.

His companion leaned closer, shaking his head as he swallowed hard. “No… look at the engravings. Feel that aura… this isn’t just Runed. It might be Masterwork.”

Silence fell. Only the roar of the storm filled the room. The three faces changed all at once. Shock twisted into hunger. Greed ignited in their eyes, burning like wildfire that threatened to consume everything.

None of them noticed the presence watching from outside, just behind them. Riven’s breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded so violently he feared they would hear it. But when he saw their eyes locked on the sword, Riven knew.

This was his moment.

He moved.

The hammering rain masked his steps. Circling to the side of the house, he slipped through the shattered doorway. His grip on his own sword was iron-tight, his knuckles pale from the strain. Each step was slow, deliberate, drowned out by the drumming water spilling from the roof.

The three intruders were transfixed, as though the blade before them had swallowed the world whole. They never turned, not even when Riven stood directly behind them. His eyes were cold. His breathing steady. There was no hesitation.

Before they realized he was there, Riven drove his blade into the broad back of the largest man. The steel pierced flesh and muscle, bursting out through his stomach in a spray of hot, dark blood.

The man lurched forward, his eyes wide, staring in disbelief at the steel protruding from his gut. His breath hitched, his lips moving soundlessly, but only blood spilled from his mouth.

The air inside the dim room filled with the thick, metallic tang of fresh blood.

The first man crumpled, lifeless, onto the floor. The other two froze, caught off guard that a mere boy had dared to stab them from behind. But Riven gave them no time.

He wrenched his sword free. The blade was slick and heavy with blood as he twisted his wrist and swung at the nearest man’s neck.

The cut was brutal. Steel tore through flesh with a wet crack, a geyser of blood spraying across the room. But it was not clean like in the stories. The sword bit deep, nearly severing the head, but not quite.

The man’s neck split open, half his throat and spine still holding his head upright. He stiffened, eyes bulging as they locked with Riven’s. His mouth opened, trying to form words, but only a choking gurgle of blood poured out.

His body trembled, then collapsed to his knees. His half-hanging head tilted grotesquely before he toppled over, painting the floor slick with crimson.

For the briefest moment, Riven faltered. His breath came ragged, his sword-hand trembling. He knew that beheading a man in a single strike was no simple feat.

But he had no time to dwell.

The last intruder finally snapped out of shock. Rage and fear twisted his face as he roared, swinging his sword down at Riven.

Clang!

Riven tore his blade free from the half-severed corpse just in time, the force nearly dragging him off balance. The body collapsed with a heavy thud as steel met steel.

The enemy’s strike sliced close, the edge scraping across Riven’s chest. His shirt split wide, the fabric tearing, his skin stinging where the steel had grazed it. Not deep, but close. Too close.

His heart thundered in his ears. His grip tightened, trembling, but he forced himself to stand firm.

The man did not stop. With another roar of panic and desperation, he raised his sword again and swung with all his strength.

Riven stumbled back, his heel slipping on the blood-slick floor mixed with rainwater pouring through the door. His body wavered, almost falling, but he caught himself just in time. He knew one slip would mean death.

The blade came down again, faster than Riven had expected. Silver caught the storm’s light as it slashed toward his waist.

Riven lifted his sword, bracing to block.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep